


A Key to Happiness

by good_morning_sunshine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Deserves Better (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Deserves Better, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Kline as God, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 15, The Empty (Supernatural), fine i'll do it myself, i guess i'll add more characters and tags later, they finally deal with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/good_morning_sunshine/pseuds/good_morning_sunshine
Summary: "I won't be hands-on," Jack added shortly. "Chuck put himself in the story - that was his mistake. But I learned from you - and my mother, and Castiel - that when people have to be their best, they can be."After these words, after his firm assertion, Dean knew: there was no hope. Jack wasn't the same kid who was willing to expose his powers or die to save everyone he could. New God was beyond moral grounds or mortality, achieving peace within himself and among the worlds. He returned the humans Chuck had annihilated but won't interfere with people's choices and decisions. In other words, he won't bring Cas back.The finale rewrite, basically. I think the ending is fundamentally broken, so I'm gonna fix it
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	1. 15x19

**Author's Note:**

> SPN finally broke me, and I've created an account on AO3. Huh. Welcome to my Endgame, I guess.
> 
> Also, no beta, we die like men. So if you see grammar mistakes or typos, please let me know.

"It's a hell of a time to bail," Dean said. He involuntarily clenched his jaws and looked Jack straight in the eyes. Everything, almost everything returned to normal; it was a wrong time for another grand escape from God. "A lot of people are counting on you, people with questions. They're gonna need answers."

"And those answers will be in each of them." Jack returned his gaze and paused for a second. "Maybe not today, but someday."

He stood there, surrounded by humans whom he created back into existence. The street was filled with noises since Jack's presence didn't mute them, enhancing every sound instead. With the small shining smile, he seemed so young and hopeful that it reminded Sam of the day he was born. Yet his eyes were no longer naive or searching for something. It wasn't wisdom that prevailed in the way he observed people around, nor was it Chuck's curiosity in the earlier days, when he wasn't bored with Humanity. It was a peacefulness and satisfaction as if he finally found all the answers. And he did.

"People won't need to pray to me or to sacrifice to me." Even pronouncing these words, for a moment, he looked confused at the prospect of someone hurting themselves in order to please him. "They just need to know that I am already a part of them and to trust in that."

There was nothing Sam or Dean could've said in response. They had questions and objections, but words appeared meaningless compared to the quiet confidence of the New God.

"I won't be hands-on," Jack added shortly. "Chuck put himself in the story - that was his mistake. But I learned from you - and my mother, and Castiel - that when people have to be their best, they can be."

After these words, after his firm assertion, Dean knew: there was no hope. Jack wasn't the same kid who was willing to expose his powers or die to save everyone he could. New God was beyond moral grounds or mortality, achieving peace within himself and among the worlds. He returned the humans Chuck had annihilated but won't interfere with people's choices and decisions. In other words, he won't bring Cas back. This revelation alone formed a lump in Dean's throat that expanded so fast it could've burst open. He looked away, forcing himself to ignore it.

"And that's what to believe in. I'll be here. Well. Nearly as close as this." Jack put a hand on his heart, and Sam couldn't contain his tears any longer. He was leaving them for the greater good, as he was always supposed to do. So, why did it seem so erratic?

"You're still welcomed to visit us in the bunker any time. We'll miss you, you know."

"I know, Sam. And I will. But first, I have so many things to do. To fix." Jack said with the same sincere mindful smile, but his voice was kinder when he added. "And you do too."

As he finished the phrase, Sam's phone buzzed with several new messages, coming one by one. He reached to his pocket and retrieved it in a broken motion. It took him several attempts to unlock it, his fingers shaking, but as he wrapped his head read the messages, a broad smile spread across his face.

"Eileen is alive."

"Of course. I returned everyone who shouldn't have disappeared."

"Everyone, huh?" Dean failed to make his voice calm. Even talking to Jack, he couldn't help but sound bitter. It was clear as day that no phone call or message was waiting for him. "Everyone but Cas?"

"It was his choice."

"It was his sacrifice!" Dean nearly screamed, spitting the words in one forceful stream.  
He was on the point of moving towards Jack but stopped and closed his eyes. Gesturing to Sam not to intervene, Dean collected himself. Despite his anger, his desperation, he knew they couldn't afford a new enemy right now, yet he might have been coming dangerously close to displeasing God. Again.

"Cas didn't deserve it," he said, his tone low and patient.

"I know."

As opposed to Dean's worries, Jack didn't sound annoyed or entitled. In fact, he began to resemble his old self more. He treaded lightly towards the brothers, his feet barely leaving the ground. His eyes were warm when extended a fist. There was a moment of hesitance as Dean observed it, quickly eyeing Sam, and put his open palm under. His glance traveled back and forth between Jack’s face and hand and stopped on the former.

"I won't get involved, but I won't leave you alone," he said and placed a small object in Dean's hand. "With me around, every human will get an opportunity to pursue and reach happiness. And now, everyone has a key to theirs." He glanced over the brothers with his brows raised. "The choice is yours."

Jack stepped back and looked around. His skin was somewhat glowing, illuminated by the sunlight and his white jacket. With an amicable expression on his face, he seemed content.

Slowly but surely, the weight of his words reached Sam and Dean's minds. It smoothed the wrinkles on their foreheads, and they smiled. He stood as the embodiment of balance, and peace, and freedom, and everything the Winchesters could've expected from God but had no luck before. But it was still Jack that they knew and loved who raised his palm in a familiar gesture and waved goodbye.

"See you around."

He left the street, dissolving in the air in the process, but nothing else seemed to alter. A car honked in the distance, some birds chittered in the trees, the cafe's bell ringed, signaling a customer's arrival. People talked over a cup of coffee; people conversed while walking; people laughed, sitting on the bench. Miracle showed up at the Winchesters' legs, waking them from their trance.

Only then, as Sam crouched to pet the dog, Dean felt something cold burning his palm. A small key laid forgotten, hidden in his clenched fist. Nothing particular stood out about the object, except for the carvings on its shank - letters of the language Dean recognized immediately. Enochian.

"This son of a bitch," he muttered and put the key in the inside coat pocket. There was hope, after all.

***

Having finished the carvings, Sam and Dean leaned on the wooden table in the heart of the bunker. A second of silence and they exhaled loudly. The rough skin on the fingertips ached slightly after the knife's spine had pushed into them with force. Under warm lights, they sat casually, staring blankly at the furniture. Despite the dark circles under the eyes and their broken postures, a smile grew on their faces.

"With Chuck not writing our story anymore, we get to write our own." Sam's carefully chosen words broke the silence.

"Finally free."

Dean shifted a little, releasing a key from his pocket, and looked it over. He ran his thumb over the engraved letters and muttered them. Nothing happened. With a huff, he threw his head back under Sam’s observant eye.

"What are you gonna do now?"

"Learn Enochian, apparently," Dean answered with a raise of a brow, turning to his brother. "You?"

"I don't think your pronunciation is the problem."

"Is it because you tried to read it too?"

"What I'm saying," Sam continued, rolling his eyes, "is that it may not work like the key to Billie's library did. But it will." He clapped Dean on the shoulder with the sympathetic look that his brother usually hated.

The click of the front door opening prevented Dean from forcing a joke, and someone hurried down the stairs. Well, not someone. Judging from the way Sam sprang to his feet and rushed to the exit, Dean was fairly sure it was Eileen. He remained alone as muffled voices filled the other room and then disappeared completely.

Smirking, Dean and continued staring in the distance and fiddling around with the key. There was something off about it. It wasn't the combination of Enochian letters that didn't make sense or sound right - he was accustomed to untranslatable angelic expressions. And it wasn't its bit, which was pretty ordinary, to begin with. The key looked like it could've fit any old lock on the chest or a door, but it merely made finding the right one almost impossible. And wasn’t it supposed to lead them to the Empty? Or what was it meant to do? There were hundreds of books in the bunker, dozens of which Dean had scrutinized over the years. Researching any artifact could've taken weeks or months and never guaranteed that they would discover anything. He couldn't allow it.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with it, Jack?" Dean muttered, his eyes turned to the letters on the shank. He couldn’t escape an intrusive thought that the key bore no relation to the Empty and opened some kind of treasure chest. The idea alone caused his stomach to curl. It didn’t add up, though. If it were a key to happiness like Jack had implied, it could lead only to Cas.

“You want him back too, right? It shouldn’t be this hard, you know.”

His thumb, tracing over the letters on the key, stopped on the central symbol. It really shouldn’t have to. As Sam and Eileen entered the room, he jumped off the table and dashed to the bunker’s halls.

“Dean?”

He responded by merely throwing his hand in the air. Almost stumbling on the turn, Dean approached the closest door and stood still in front of it. He breathed a broken sigh and brought the key near the lock. Its size appeared to fit, but nothing else could be inferred without examining the hole or the bit. Dean closed his eyes, tilting his head, as he put the key in and twisted it counterclockwise in one rushed motion. Click, and the door opened on its own.

Pushing it forward, Dean plodded on. What he saw was reminiscent of any other storage room in the bunker. Three ceiling lamps lightened sufficiently to see the shelves and desks clearly, every surface covered in manuscripts and artifacts. The room lacked free space and other exits, as Dean could conclude from his perspective. Diving into the smell of decaying books, he heard familiar steps behind and didn’t bother to turn around.

“What is this place?” Sam’s voice drowned in the stale air.

Dean took a book from the nearest table, kicking up dust, and traced the title on the cover. The symbols lost their color but were visible enough to decipher when held close to the face.

“Arabic.”

As he moved to the shelves, Sam and Eileen stepped inside and wandered off. The books were written in a variety of ancient and modern languages and were scattered in no particular order everywhere. Their condition differed from proper to atrocious, the pages being held together by the sheer power of centuries-old dust. Once approached the second next table from the door, Sam picked up the most durable volume from the pile and opened it.

“Here’s one in Enochian.”

“What’s it about?” Dean slurred back over his shoulder and put down another book he couldn’t read on the shelf. He moved considerably far compared to others, in search of other doors or peculiar signs to no avail.

“I mean, I’ll need a dictionary for that one.”

“Does it have pictures?”

“Pictures? Dean, it’s not a comic book store to have...” Sam stumbled on his words, turning a page, “...pictures. Yes. You might wanna check it out.”

Dean moved to him, wiping his dusty fingers on the jeans. The closer he got, the more visible Sam’s alarmed expression became, and the quicker his pace grew. Once he approached, he took the book from his brother, who immediately turned to sign everything to Eileen.

The first thing Dean saw were the letters. The ink and yellowed pages seemed far better preserved than he expected from the book written in Enochian. Then again, it must have been due to some sort of spell, given the room where it was stored. Dean didn’t have time to speculate on the place’s nature or powers, but he figured that magic was involved. But then he saw the picture.

Dean let out a sigh. It was a hand-drawn illustration in black and white that depicted complete darkness with a single silhouette in the bottom right corner. The figure was facing the nothingness in front of them, standing so far in the background that their face wasn’t even drafted. What was drafted was a contour of their wings.

“Could it be…”

“I’m not sure,” Sam answered, looking over others with determination. “But once I get my hands on a dictionary, I…”

“I found a book in Middle English,” Eileen said. “We don’t need a dictionary for that, don’t we?”

Under Sam’s tender look, she opened the book on the pages that she kept her index finger between. The edition must have been from the Medieval times, but the volume seemed mere years old, lacking spots or hue. Eileen scanned the text until she found the right place.  
“It says, _and he opened the gates and faced complete nothingness_. But “the gates” can also be “the portal” as, you know, English.”

“Nothingness,” Dean started, clearing his throat before the next words. “Cas described it like darkness all around, so it adds up.”

“Jack told us something similar. Then it must be it?”

“I think there will be other books devoted to the Empty,” Eileen added, gently rubbing a thumb across the page. “Maybe even in the same crisp condition.”

The three of them exchanged glances and simultaneously looked around. The room was still packed with various books and manuscripts, but only several of them stood out if you knew what to notice. Some volumes and sheets of paper were considerably better preserved than the others.

“Then we should start looking.”


	2. 15x20: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets Cas out of the Empty, but new problems emerge (bc of course they do). It's basically the first half (maybe a little more than half of the episode that I came up with).
> 
> The first steps are generally the most dangerous while entering a portal. Once on the other side, the only things that can save you are your instincts and skills (and luck, but Dean never used to rely on it). One step forward, and you have to be ready for a sudden attack right away, even before you have an opportunity to look around. If no one’s trying to kill you, for now, as the following step, you still have to take all the surroundings into account, adjusting to the environment in mere seconds. An enemy can come from anywhere, especially from the portal you’ve just gone through. Thus, the next step is to move and move fast as if somebody’s watching you. Usually, somebody does.

Dean took a machete from the map table and started sharpening it on the grindstone. The sharp edge of the blade shone under the lamps, but he continued grinding it back and forth. His movements were abrupt, even violent, which didn’t escape from Sam and Eileen’s attention. They didn’t comment on it, though, too busy adding the ingredients into two separate bowls according to the books in front of them.

“I think that’s it,” Sam said, forcing Dean to jerk his head up. “If we’re correct, it should fit in here.”

Sam removed the crystal orb that they’d found in the secret room from the tiny canvas sack. The transparent surface permitted light through so eagerly that it would’ve burned his hand if it had contained water inside. Not daring to tighten his fingers around such a fragile object, Sam handed it to Eileen, who carefully opened it in half. She held both halves in her palm as Sam slowly poured the dark shiny liquid from the bowl into one of them and then closed it. The orb lighted up for a second and went out.

“So? Did it work?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam sounded more tired than exasperated. “It’s not like it has been done before.”

“Yeah, I know. I just hope it did.”

“It should’ve,” Eileen said as she put the orb back in the sack. “We’ve seen the sleeping pill mentioned in several books. It wasn’t accidental, even if no one specified how it works.”

“We might not need it anyway. Maybe the Empty is already asleep.”

“The last time Jake visited it, he blew up,” Sam protested. “He has a lot on his plate. I doubt he’s fixed it yet. It’s been only a few days.”

“Well, the kid is God now.”

“He would’ve told us if he did.”

The certainty in Sam’s voice caused Dean to keep his reservations to himself. Instead, he put on his stoic face, lowered his head, and strapped the machete to his belt.

“We don’t have more time. Let’s do it.” He turned to face Eileen as soon as he finished. “How’s the portal?”

“Almost ready. Good thing you had all these God’s belongings lying around.”

Sam and Dean shared a reserved smirk. Any other time the spell would be nearly impossible to complete with the ingredients like “a piece of God,” but finding Jake’s hair was a matter of minutes. Once Eileen added several golden threads into the mix, the contents of the bowl burst into flames. 

"It was the last ingredient. Dean, are you ready?"

"As ready as I could be."

"We can still go together,” Sam said, getting a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket. The Enochian letters on it were smeared a bit. “Eileen can keep an eye on the portal just fine."

"Never would think otherwise, Sammy, but I need you here.” Dean turned his flashlight on and off and, satisfied by its condition, continued. “If something happens, and we won't return, I need you to be here, to keep moving and holding this place together. And taking care of Miracle, okay?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Alright. And Eileen.” Dean caught her eye and pointed the finger at Sam. “Don't let him do something stupid."

"I won't.”

Eileen placed her palm on Sam’s shoulder, and he grunted in response with a small smile. He fleetingly brushed the hair back from his forehead and furrowed his brows. Holding the paper next to the bowl, he read the spell, distinctly uttering each sound. The liquid flickered once more as the portal appeared on their right.

“You have about an hour,” Sam said, and Dean stopped on his track to set up a timer on his watches. “Better put it on 50 minutes or less, just in case. And good luck.”

“Good luck, Dean.”

Standing in front of the shimmering orange line, Dean faced them one last time and nodded. With tightly pressed lips, he extended a hand and entered the portal.

***

The first steps are generally the most dangerous while entering a portal. Once on the other side, the only things that can save you are your instincts and skills (and luck, but Dean never used to rely on it). One step forward, and you have to be ready for a sudden attack right away, even before you have an opportunity to look around. If no one’s trying to kill you, for now, as the following step, you still have to take all the surroundings into account, adjusting to the environment in mere seconds. An enemy can come from anywhere, especially from the portal you’ve just gone through. Thus, the next step is to move and move fast as if somebody’s watching you. Usually, somebody does.

The Empty wasn’t an exception. The moment Dean entered the area, the hair on his hands stood on end. Someone was indeed watching him, monitoring his every movement, but his discreet observer could’ve been anywhere. Space around lacked beginning and end, up and down, or any starting point except for the furiously glowing portal. Dean leaned his hands on his knees, his half-bent body urging him to get closer to the floor, which was also missing. He shakily stood on nothingness and stared at his scuffed boots outlined against total blackness.

The more Dean focused on the area around him, the more he wanted to puke. All the thoughts in his head mixed in one unintelligible mess that resulted in high-pitch ringing in his ears. He refused to close his eyes, which could’ve caused more dizziness, and turned his vision to the portal. Dean observed it long enough to take his mind off the space. When the noise and nausea receded, he stood upright and gave the place another look-over.

Nothing caught his eye. Dean took the compass out of the pocket just in case, but its needle was aimlessly spinning clockwise. The flashlight proved to be useless as well: the light couldn’t reflect from the absolute nothingness, just as Dean couldn’t wrap his head around the place. He didn’t feel claustrophobic. The Empty started to resemble a spacious room without walls or ceiling, but, apparently, a floor, given that he hadn’t fallen through. And how come he could see himself so clearly? It wasn’t due to the portal because Dean was able to have a good look at his stuff with his back to the only source of light. And how did it glow but seem not to illuminate anything?

Dean didn’t have time for all these questions. Putting away the futile flashlight, he moved forward (forward being in the opposite direction of the portal), each step more confident than the last. Walking was effortless as long as he didn’t think about it, and he had something more important on his mind.

“Hey! Anyone’s here?” Dean shouted, barely expecting anyone to answer.

Upon hearing his own voice, he noticed that it rang not in silence but over a sound. A constant buzzing, a mix of whispering and struggling, and moaning, and something distinctively else, filled the seemingly unlimited space. The noise was almost subaudible but continuous and too tangible to be ignored any longer. It touched bare skin and stuck between the layers of clothes. Dean couldn’t determine its source as if the buzzing was coming from everywhere at once.

It was when it clicked. Sam must’ve been right: Jack had indeed woken the Empty up and let it be. Their plan could work.

“Hey, who’s the boss here? I just wanna talk!”

All the books and manuscripts referred to the creature at the head of the Empty as a “shadowy figure,” which wasn’t really useful when trying to communicate.

“The Empty! Or a secretary! Someone?”

When Dean screamed the last word, he heard something from behind. He wheeled around to face the gooey sounds, putting a hand on a machete handle and letting it go in an instance. 

“Cas?”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I said yes?”

Even without regard to the voice, too creaky and high-pitched, everything was wrong about him. The smile on Cas’s face revealed too many teeth to seem friendly; the shoulders were too relaxed. Dean clenched his jaw so hard it began to ache and returned his hand on the handle.

“I thought you ‘just wanted to talk,’” The Shadow said, making air quotes with both hands. “Or did you have something else in mind?”

“Why do you look like him?”

“Wanted to see your reaction and it’s,” it cut the sentence short, mouth half-open as if only noticing something, “interesting.”

“You know me?”

“Of course. I saw you, Dean Winchester. Multiple times.”

The blue eyes fixed on his face, it fell silent for a moment. While Dean slowly took a deep breath, relaxing muscle by muscle, The Shadow folded the arms on the chest in one exaggerated movement and squinted.

“I must say, I’m impressed,” it said in a more brooding tone than before. “You are the first human who dared to come here.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Another pause was threatening to appear. Dean reminded himself that the creature could’ve been able to read minds; thus, his only option was to speak genuinely yet wisely. As he cleared the throat to continue, the creature rolled the eyes and groaned.

“So, are you gonna talk, or you had something else in mind?”

“Nope, just the talk,” he replied and finally let go of the machete, raising his hands, palms out. “I came here to offer a solution.”

“A solution? To me? What can you possibly…”

“I’ve heard you had trouble sleeping lately. Since Jack’s, well, God’s last visit.” Dean noticed how an agitated expression appeared for a brief second and changed to indifference. Observing not-Cas’ face, he wondered whether his close acquaintance with Jack was the only reason why the creature was listening to him at all. “You know about it, right?”

“I was informed.”

It was either curiosity or playing it safe in front of someone who befriended God, Dean decided. Or was it total desperation? Given the relentless buzzing, it must’ve felt tired. The corners of the mouth inexorably fell once the creature failed to control the face for an instant; a few black spots occurred on the trench coat. Dean was familiar with anguish well enough to identify one.

“Then you know that I can talk to him. He can fix your noise issues with one finger snap.”

“How mindful of you. You came all this way to tell me this?”

“I brought you something, as well. A sleeping pill.”

Before The Shadow was able to respond, Dean reached to his inner pocket to reveal a dim glow. Hidden behind the layers of fabric, the orb didn’t light up until this moment. Dean retrieved it from the tiny sack and gently squeezed between his index finger and thumb to demonstrate. The creature gazed at it with cartoonishly big, mesmerizing eyes.

“It’ll knock everyone off.”

“It won’t last long.”

“But it will last. Hours, days, months...Depends on your luck, I guess.”

Truth be told, Dean wasn’t sure. Neither was Sam or Eilleen. They’d read that the orb had a temporal effect on the Empty, but its length or what influenced it remained a mystery. No one had been able to check or test it, really.

“Look, I offer you an exchange,” he continued, putting the glowing ball back in the sack, A pill that will send the Empty back to sleep and bring you peace even if for a while — no more noise, no more disturbance — for Cas.”

“Why don’t I just take it from you?”

“Then who’s gonna talk to Jack?”

“I’ll keep you till He arrives.”

“You wanna test God? Really?”

The Shadow tilted its head and forced a smile through tightly pressed lips. More black spots appeared on the trench coat where the fingers clung to the sleeves; they pulsated slightly.

“It’s a simple transaction: you give me Cas, I give you the pill, and we part our ways. As soon as I’m home, I talk to God about your problem. Deal?”

“Hm.”

The Shadow examined Dean, furrowing brows in a way that looked unnatural on Cas’s face. The whole expression was distorted by the emptiness in the eyes, so real and frightening that no other being could’ve had them. Yet it was almost comforting; it reminded him that the creature wasn't using Cas’s body but merely copying him.

The creature put an index finger over its lips and started humming. The almost inaudible melody contrasted greatly to the place's overall buzzing and lacked pattern and structure. Dean huffed silently, tapping his foot against the nothingness of the floor. Once again, he hoped the creature couldn’t read his thoughts.

"So?"

He didn't have a plan B, and the time was running out at a dangerous pace. Come to think of it, he had never had another option to begin with. His machete or flashlight wouldn't work against the creature, even if he had enough strength to harm anyone with Cas's face. The whole grand scheme they had invented relied on the thing they couldn't control — the Shadow's desire to sleep. According to their research completed over the last days, it would do anything to calm the Empty down. In particular, Sam had insisted on its grudge against staying awake and desperation to return its tranquil existence, but waiting for its response, Dean couldn't help but doubt.

"I accept your offer," The Shadow said so abruptly that Dean didn't notice when the humming stopped and the speech started. He was opening his mouth when the creature pointed the finger in his direction and added, "On one condition. Castiel's deal stands." With each following word, it stepped closer, piercing through Dean with familiar blue eyes. "The moment he feels happiness, I take him back."

"You can't just..."

"Oh, I can," The Shadow interrupted, baring its teeth in a grin. "And I will. You see, Castiel and me — we are connected. He's been here not once, not twice, and I won't even start on him arriving here that last time. I know him. I sense him. I can run his grace to earth." It unfolded the arms and spread them, raising the shoulders a bit. "And you physically cannot hide it from me, Dean Winchester."

"Give us at least one day," Dean argued, but the creature cut him off again.

"It's not negotiable. Take it or leave it."

The Shadow looked content, even satisfied, as it put its hands in the pockets. Scrutinizing the borrowed face, Dean swiftly realized that there was neither time nor point in fighting. Through the gritted teeth, he muttered: "Fine."

"Oh, sorry, what was that? Couldn't quite catch it."

"I said, fine. Now bring him back." Dean took the sack with the orb shining through it. He held it at face level between his fingertips but quickly recoiled from The Shadow's reaching hand. "Not until I see Cas."

With a roll of the eyes, the creature snapped its fingers. At first, nothing changed. Then, following its stare, Dean looked over his shoulder. The familiar silhouette in a trench coat was lying face down on the floor.

"Now, the pill," The Shadow said in a low voice, suddenly stern, and extended its expectant hand. Placing the orb on its palm, Dean didn't bother to come up with a remark or return the glare. Instead, he turned around and covered the distance to his friend in a split second. Cas had already regained consciousness and tried to sit straight, relying on his elbows.

"Dean?"

"Hey, buddy, you alright?" he pronounced breathlessly, supporting the angel by his shoulder. A moment later, his hands cupped Cas's face, his thumbs carefully pulling the soft skin under the eyes. The pupils were dilated, but he reacted to Dean's actions, following the movement of the index finger in front of him.

"Dean, I don't understand."

"We don't have much time right now, but basically, I'm getting you the hell out of here."

"But I..."

"I'll explain everything later; just trust me on this one. I’m gonna take you home, okay?"

"Okay."

The watches beeped ten minutes left. Cursing under breath, Dean checked behind his back, where no one remained. Only then he noticed that the buzzing had stopped. 

"We must go," Dean said, helping Cas to get up. "We should make it to the portal in time. Can you run?"

"I think."

"Good.” He knew it wasn't the time and place for that but abruptly wrapped his arms around Cas. With forcefully shut eyes, he tensed in a desperate attempt to press closer and brushed his nose against the dark hair. "Man, it's good to have you back."

Cas caught his breath, quickly returning the hug, and exhaled loudly upon hearing the words. It lasted mere seconds before Dean distanced himself, though not far enough to take his hands off the shoulders.

"Now, we run."

Cas could only nod in response as he felt Dean taking his hand and leading the way to the glimmering light afar. And they ran.

They ran as fast as they could but didn't seem to get closer to the portal. Since the buzzing from troubled beings ceased, nothing produced sounds apart from their sprinting. The watches beeped five minutes left. Dean's rhythmic breathing burned his throat and nostrils with freezing air, but he chose to ignore it. He concentrated all his attention on the glow in the darkness and Cas's firm grip. The angel visibly struggled to run in a straight line, though kept up.

Three minutes. The signal broke through the pounding in Dean's ears and forced him to pick up speed. He saw the light turning from the faint dot into the shimmering light and mentally prayed to Cas just to hold on.

Two minutes. Same old flashbacks flew through his head when he felt the reassuring squeeze. Squeezing back, he got his second wind. Almost there.

One minute. The line was considerably thinner than earlier. It was present, even though its light almost faded. Eyeing the angel behind him, Dean considered stopping for a moment to grip Cas tight around his waist but was discouraged by the dangerously slight glimmer ahead. When he stepped into the light, he only wished not to return alone.

***

Dean stepped inside the room in the bunker, accompanied by a loud ‘whoosh’ sound. He turned to face Cas but tugged his hand with so much force that the angel tripped and fell right into his arms upon entering. As the portal closed behind them, he was lying on Dean’s chest, with one hand wrapped around his waist. The fingers of his other hand still held on to the angel’s wrist.

“It worked!” Sam screamed, unable to hide his relief.

He helped Cas stand up, wrestling him from Dean’s grip, and locked him in a hug. Eileen was quick to notice that his legs wobbled a little and brought the closest chair. As Cas sat down, squinting in the bunker’s dim light, Dean made his way to the table beside him. Relying on its edge, he released a sigh. The room hadn’t changed at all over the time he had spent in the Empty, to his delight.

“Where’s Jack?” Cas asked, having glanced around. He directed the question to everyone, though he locked his eyes on Dean in anticipation.

“Jack’s okay. He’s out there.”

“Oh, buddy, you’ve missed one hell of a time.” Dean couldn’t resist a smile. “The kid’s God now.”

He could’ve sworn that Cas’s already big eyes became twice as large. His voice sounded more hoarse than usual when he added:

“And Chuck?”

“Defeated. He’s not a problem anymore.”

“Okay.”

The corners of Cas’s lips twitched as the information slowly reached him. His hands remained intertwined on his knees, but he dropped his shoulders and leaned on the chairback, visibly relaxing. He looked fine, as far as Dean could tell. Tired, but fine.

“So, the Empty.” Sam coughed to draw attention. “How did it go?”

"Went as we planned," Dean started to answer, looking at Sam and Eileen in front of him, but ended up returning Cas’s inquiring gaze. “I made it an offer it couldn't resist: gave it a sleeping pill in exchange for you.”

“And did it just,” Eileen slowed down in the middle, gesturing in their direction, “let you go?”

"Well, almost. Now we have another problem.” Dean lost his smile, his expression changing from soft to stern in a second. “ As soon as it wakes up — and we cannot claim that it hasn't already — it will wait for Cas to be happy. Once he's happy, it'll take him back."

“That’s...something.”

Dean noticed Sam’s glance, though he didn’t comment on it. He wasn’t sure how much his brother knew. Even though he never specified the details of Cas’s sacrifice, Sam was more than able to draw his conclusions based on the provided snips of information.

“We have to deal with it now. Maybe closing the Empty for good?”

“Not an option.” Cas shook his head, deep crinkles forming between his brows. “The Empty is the only place that holds celestial beings and demons. If closed, chaos will unfold.”

“Besides, we don’t know how,” Eileen approached the books across the table and put a hand on an open page. “There is little to no specific information about the Empty. Let alone tips on affecting it.”

“We’ll look anyway,” Sam said and followed her. “Even if we can’t affect the Empty, we can find something else, like a spell to hide Cas.”

“Wait,” Dean exclaimed, turning so that he could face everyone. “We can’t really hide Cas. It said it could find his grace anywhere. But without it...”

“Cas will be human.”

“Exactly.” He looked over Sam and Eileen while realization started to hit them and stared Cas in the face. “The Empty has no control over humans, right? And you’ll be hidden from it forever. So…”

Cas didn’t really react. He sat, frozen, in his seat, fingers white from clenching. Yet, Dean observed how his eyebrows slightly arched in the middle and ultimately failed to contain hopefulness when he said softly:

“Can we extract your grace?” 

***

Dean approached the Impala with two coffees and a fast food bag in one hand, and a phone in another. The car looked stunning in the morning sun, which instantly put a proud smile on his already content face.

“Yeah, no problem, we’ll be there,” Dean said and placed the food on the hood. “I call Sam, or you wanna invite him yourself? Oh, okay. Yeah.”

He grabbed his coffee and took a long sip. His eyes wandered around the horizon a bit and stopped once he saw Cas standing in the field across the road. He was facing away—his hands in the pockets, his head tilted back—but turned around as if sensing the stare. Dean saluted him with the plastic cup and, unable to read his reaction from afar, was pleased to see Cas moving towards the car.

“Yeah, I guess. We deserve a little celebration.” Grinning, Dean shifted his gaze to his free hand and started drawing circles on the hood. “Bye, Jody. Tell the girls we said ‘hi.’”

As he finished the call, he managed to take another sip before Cas got close enough to speak without raising his voice. A smile grew on his lips as he noticed the bag.

“I thought you’d like a burger or two once you’re human.”

“As a matter of fact, I would,” Cas said, taking the second cup of coffee from Dean’s extended hand above the car’s hood, and leaned on the door.

“Jody called. Invites us to celebrate the victory over Chuck.”

“Oh, good.”

“Claire is looking forward to seeing you.”

The statement made Cas’s smile spread a little. As he twisted his head, the sun illuminated the wrinkles near the corners of his eyes.

“We’re almost here. We should move.”

A hand on the handle, he stole a glance at Dean, who picked the bag and opened the front door. Taking another sip from the cup, he started the car. Since the engine fired, Cas didn’t avert his gaze from the windshield.

The day before, in the bunker, Sam, Eileen, and Dean had filled him in on all the events of the last weeks. After defeating God, nothing had happened in regards to action as the three of them sat still, covered in books and random manuscripts related to the Empty. So, they focused on repeating everything leading up to their victory, with which Eileen was already familiar enough to contribute.

They stayed up past midnight, retelling the story. At some point, Miracle appeared, having slept blissfully through half the day. After a thorough examination via sniffing, she accepted Cas as a new friend and proved it by nuzzling into his open palm. Even if Dean took a photo, no one could notice it, too absorbed in petting the dog’s fluffy fur.

When they came to the conclusion that extracting grace in the bunker was a bad idea, no one could tell. It’s not like it had never been done before; these rooms had witnessed both similar and far more dangerous procedures. This time, everything felt different. Not only the Empty could get through the bunker’s warding once summoned, but it could also track Cas’s grace anywhere, making it risky to keep its remnants inside. Extracting it somewhere else seemed like a reasonable option, though such precautions might have been pointless.

Could the Empty get Cas without his grace? Dean doubted it but had eagerly agreed to drive the angel to a “safer” place in the morning. Eileen and Sam only exchanged weird looks in response and claimed that they had a lot of work to do in the bunker — like some research in a mystery room or checking upon other hunters, right, Sam? yeah, definitely, other hunters needed a quick check-up. you guys can handle it without us. — and left the task to the two of them. As soon as the sun came up, Dean and Cas hit the road.

The longer they drove, the nicer the day became. The morning chilliness gave way to warmth, allowing Dean to open the window and let the gentle breeze in. It replaced the music, which seemed excessive for the cause.

Dean suspected that the whole ordeal was a matter of symbolism as well. Cas wanted it to be memorable, different from any other extraction he had observed or participated in. He never specified the destination, having asked to head north towards South Dakota, and Dean vaguely understood why. It was a farewell, after all. 

Though Dean could’ve driven the Impala in his sleep, he was thankful for the open highway. It allowed him to face the passenger by far more often than necessary or even acceptable while at the wheel. He couldn’t help himself. Soft light streamed through the right windows and illuminated Cas’s profile nicely. The angel watched the road tipped back in his seat, narrowing his eyes from time to time as if scanning for something.

Despite the circumstances, there was no tension in the air around them. Either the dark circles under Dean’s eyes or deep lines between Cas’s brows, or both excluded a possibility of any in-depth conversation. They mostly sat in silence, listening to the blowing wind and the motor hum. It was Dean who broke it, having finished his coffee. Joyfully tapping his fingers against the wheel, he said:

“So. What’s the first thing you gonna do as a human?”

“Eat the burger, I guess.”

“I mean, yeah, of course. But like, what’s next? What are you gonna do with your grace?”

Cas gave him a strained look and didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at his fingers, wrapped around the plastic cup with bitter cold liquid in it.

“I’ll hide it. At least, for a while. Heaven may need it.”

“Not if Jack fixed it.”

“Yeah.”

The silence fell again, yet not so comfortable this time. Dean’s tongue itched to cheer him up, remind him of the reason to get rid of the grace and start a new, human life. But it sounded unnatural even in his mind, not before the more important conversation they had to hold. He squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and looked at Cas.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Dean started, his voice small but firm. “We’ll find another way. Hell, I’m even tired of repeating this, but we will, as always. Especially now, without Chuck.”

“No, Dean, it’s okay. I want to,” Cas said and raised his head to see the road. “I thought about it before. A lot. With my grace fading away, I’d prefer to extract it on my own volition.”

He turned to Dean with a half-smile. Facing away from the sun, with an almost celestial crown of light around his head, he appeared far from being a human. Dean involuntarily questioned the statements about his fading grace, even though he had witnessed it himself. Yet the dark blue of the eyes was so recognizable and dear that he wanted to believe.

“Besides, I’ll enjoy being human again.”

“Fewer responsibilities?”

“More, actually. But I’ll get used to them,” Cas said and turned his gaze to the windshield again. “It’s impossible to take pleasure in human things without overcoming some difficulties anyway.”

Dean hummed in agreement. Before he was able to add anything, Cas twitched in his seat and said:

“You can stop here. We’ve arrived.”

As soon as Dean parked the Impala by the side of the road, Cas sprinted out of the car. He left his still full cup on the pavement near the door.

Nothing was weird about the place. It was the same old field without signs or houses around — they’d passed similar areas en route. The only thing that stood out was a huge oak a couple of miles away from them. Its branches spread out in every direction; its vibrant green foliage appeared so dense that it hid the bright blue of the sky. Dean shielded his eyes with his hand and followed Cas, who had moved to the tree with no delay. Soon he was forced to quicken his pace to keep up. The angel had no problem moving forward, even when rare blades of tall grass clung heavily to his trenchcoat as if intending to hold him.

Dean was able to catch up as Cas stopped in front of the oak, partially covered by its shade.

“That’s it,” he said, took the syringe out of the pocket, and handed it over. “You can extract it.”

“Me?”

“I’ll help.”

Everything happened too quickly for Dean to process. One second he was trying to catch his breath as he took the grace extractor and removed the safety cap, the next, he was supposed to be ready to use it on Cas. He inhaled slowly when Cas’s fingertips guided the needle to the right spot on the neck and exhaled once he pushed it in. Dean bit his lower lip, forbidding his hands to tremble, and pulled the plunger.

“Tell me when to stop.”

“Of course.”

Dean pulled the plunger back, bit by bit, supporting the syringe with a free hand. He maintained his focus on the barrel that was gradually filling with shining essence all the time. It was especially difficult whenever Cas groaned in pain or shivered, but Dean feared he would mess something up the moment he diverted his attention.

The grace was reluctantly flowing in a thin stream as if struggling to move at all. The sound it produced was as faint as its movement. It felt like ages passed before Cas touched Dean’s shoulder and muttered, “Almost there.”

Dean regretted not thinking straight and allowing him to stand during the extraction. It must’ve been draining, judging from the breathy voice and the way Cas latched onto his arm, yet changing their position was out of the question. Dean couldn’t risk harming his friend in the process.

The grace appeared to be finally out of the body, reaching just above the center of the barrel, and Dean waited for a second just to be sure that there was nothing left. Once he received a squeeze on the shoulder, accompanied by a low ‘mm-hm,’ he carefully took the needle out and put the cap on it. Now, his full attention on Cas, Dean was able to assess the damage.

Cas was okay, or so it seemed. He was paler than before but could stand on his legs without a visible struggle and took his hand off Dean upon realizing it. With an unreadable expression, Cas retrieved a vial on a thin chain necklace. The glass was nearly transparent in the shadow where they stood. As Cas was slowly but surely injecting it with his grace, it began shining brighter than the sun above. The veil didn’t obscure the glistering mix of light blue and white colors in the slightest.

The soft glow lighted up their faces, and Dean noticed a broad smile on Cas. He observed the veil with love and care, gently holding it with his fingertips, while Dean couldn't look away from his peaceful expression. The last time he had seen something similar, the angel was taken away from him. Well, not an angel anymore. It took Dean everything not to cup Cas’s cheeks and tell everything that was building up inside him right here and there, but it could wait. Now they had time.

Cas dismissively threw the grace extractor in his pocket and let the veil hang from the chain. It kept shining as he elevated it to face level and examined the object from different angles. Dean touched the glass lightly; the hair on his hand rose from the electrical sensation that ran down his arm. His eyes were drawn to the glowing force contained in the small place. It wasn’t the first time he saw grace, yet for once, it wasn’t just someone’s grace. It was a part of Cas. 

“You gonna leave it here?”

Cas carefully placed the veil back on his palm and turned to the tree.

“Can I..” he said over the shoulder, gesturing towards the trunk.

“Yes, okay,” Dean stumbled, unable to produce a coherent thought, still affected. “I’ll wait for you over there.”

He waved in an unspecified direction and left upon seeing the corner of Cas’s lips curl upward. He didn’t fight his smile on his way back to the road.

***

Cas leaned his back against the car at Dean’s elbow without a word. They stood still beside each other and gazed at the field, squinting in the sun. The tree was solemnly towering over the surrounding area, not bothered by the slight breeze. It barely whispered through its leaves just as it did with Dean and Cas’s hair. Nothing had really changed about the place apart from the aura around the oak, though it made a difference for the two of them.

“Bade your farewell?”

“And hid it under the tree.”

Cas nodded in its direction and returned to watching the horizon. Lines on his forehead weren’t as deep as usual; the crinkle between his brows disappeared. Dean dimpled up, eyeing him from the side. 

“So.” He shuffled in his place, tapping his foot against the ground. “How does it feel? To be a human again.”

“A lot.”

“Weird?”

“Warm. A little too warm in the trench coat.”

He acted unimpressed, but his shy smile said it all: Cas couldn’t withhold his delight.

“And?” Dean continued his interrogation, moving a bit to face him.

“Calm, I suppose. Now that I’m a human, heaven can’t reach me as easily. I hear no one.”

“It’s good, right? Neither heaven nor the Empty can get you now.”

“It’s complicated,” Cas said, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “The right word will be ‘lonely.’ Lonely and useless.”

“Useless? What are you talking about?”

“You know. Without my powers.” Cas glanced at Dean and smiled unsurely upon meeting his worried gaze. “I’m okay with being a human, I am. I awaited it so long: seeing the world in mesmerizing colors, tasting the food with its intrinsic flavors, feeling...emotions at full capacity. It’s just. I understand that I’ll be less helpful. Maybe I...”

"Cas, you're amazing,” Dean blurted out and immediately decided against stopping there. “You're the one who rebelled and defied Chuck even before we knew that he was behind all of it. You gave us, me, the strength to carry on and fight for what is right. Your decisions, even the ones I disapproved of, saved the world numerous times. I want you to know that you are a real hero, and not because of your angelic powers, but everything that makes you — you."

Cas smiled unsurely, and broken wrinkles formed on the sides of his eyes. He folded his hands on the chest and turned his head to Dean but didn't get a chance to reply.

"And you can have this, you know. You can have me."

Dean pronounced the last words softer, searching for any sign of resentment, but as Cas's pupils doubled in size, and his lips parted slightly for an inhale, he continued.

"Let me. Let me finish," he stumbled. "I spent nights thinking of your speech. You said that happiness is in just being, but I disagree. Happiness is not in just being. Neither it is in having nor doing what you enjoy, or something cheesy like that. Frankly, I don't know what happiness is and where to find it. The only thing I know is that I cannot have mine without you."

Dean lowered his head so that his eyes were on Cas’s level when he added:

"I love you, Cas."

Cas let out a shaky breath and sniffled. His eyes had filled up with water by the end of the monologue, and tears started streaming down his face when Dean cupped it, shortening the distance between them. Tenderly wiping the skin under the eyes, he smiled unsurely in wait for his reaction, and Cas could only grin at him. He placed his hands on Dean’s shoulders and pulled him closer and slowed down for a moment. The hot breath between their lips, gentle touches that pierced through the skin, wet lines on the cheeks, and a limited view with only each other's eyes in sight. They sighed. They smiled.

And the world trembled.

One timid brush of the lips quickly gave way to a kiss full of emotions. Everything fell at once: the walls that they’d built over the years crumbled under the tenderness and desperation, and hopefulness, and hands moving to cradle the nape of Cas’s neck, and thumbs stroking the soft skin behind his ears, and the clutching to the worn-out coat with dirty spots on the back, and pressing closer together, body to body, heat to heat. And it was too many teeth and too little air, and it was too much and not nearly enough. It was perfect.

They reluctantly parted when lungs demanded oxygen and elbows ached from repeatedly hitting the Impala. Their eyes closed, foreheads touching, they took deep breaths and smiled so wide it hurt.

“Let’s go home,” Dean whispered in Cas’s mouth and felt him nodding. And they kissed again.

The sun was shining on the car and two people, whose heads cast one messy shadow on the pavement. The wind blew gently, barely stroking the grass and the edges of the trench coat. The two pairs of hands moved from time to time to caress, to stroke, to hug closer, to run fingers through hair. Sometimes, new tears glisten in the sunlight, and their shoulders shook from sudden laughs. Once parted, their lips formed words that quickly disappeared in another kiss.

The day was young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, right, I have a question that was probably discussed before in the fandom, I just haven't seen it. According to SuperWiki, Chuck returned Cas as a seraph, and, I guess, he remained one for the later seasons. Then why the hell he has only one pair of wings? I mean, shouldn't he have 6 wings? And why didn't they state any of this in the show?  
> SPN is a bitch, and I love it so much.
> 
> The next part will be the last and conclude the story. An epilogue with a lot of soft moments because they deserve them.  
> I have a shit tonne of work to do, but I'll try to finish it before the next year comes to leave the finale in 2020, where it belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> So, there are gonna be three chapters. With this being about 15x19 (duh), I'll deal with the 15x20 in the following ones (it's gonna be two-parters, as this is how I see the episode should've gone)


End file.
